


canvas

by lilyanna



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Painter Ten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyanna/pseuds/lilyanna
Summary: It was how they'd met: Ten needed a model, and Yuta was the only one brave enough to respond to a random shady advert on campus.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37
Collections: the eyes are the window to the soul





	canvas

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first submission for #yutenweek2020. The theme for Day 1 was "Darling, you're a work of art", I hope I did it justice with this drabble <3

It starts with bold strokes and literal splashes of colour. The first time Yuta feels a cupful of paint being slapped onto his back he jolts instinctively, as he always does. It earns him a whine of complaint from Ten; so he tries to stay still. By the fourth time it happens he barely even flinches, not even when some of it misses his waist completely and instead lands on his upper thigh. He shivers as it trickles down to the floor. 

The feel of the paintbrush is foreign too. It’s not like he’s never had a brush on his skin before, they done this time and time again, but he can never seem to get used to it. It’s not like a make-up brush, perfectly made for skin. Paint brushes like the ones Ten uses are harsher, and larger, and wider; something more akin to a hand smoothing across his skin than a delicate touch on his eyelid.

Even making that comparison, it does nothing to prepare him for how it feels when Ten starts actually using his hands. Fingers draw patterns down his spine, making uneven lines over the curve of his waist. They work in circles, and in squares, and in other shapes that Yuta can’t even begin to identify. The artist’s right hand stays cupping his waist for a moment as he works meticulously on something beneath his left shoulder blade. It’s a soft but forceful touch. Intimate. 

“You doing okay babe?” Ten asks from behind his shoulder. He doesn’t stop when he asks the question, but does marginally slow down.

“Yeah.” Yuta smiles, even though he knows he can’t see his face. “How’s it looking?”

Ten squints and pulls back to get a wider look at the mess he’s making of his boyfriend’s back. “Too early to tell, I think. Needs more blue, definitely.” 

“Please don’t get the blue in my hair.” The elder groans. He’s joking. Mostly. “Last time the ends stayed blue for weeks.”

“Well it’s not my fault you insist on having white hair. And we both paid for that one, must I remind you of what that paint did to my poor bedsheets? Lean forward.”

Yuta huffs, grumbling under his breath about how the younger had said he liked his hair. He still bends towards the ground though. Honestly, Ten’s lucky he’s so flexible. Not as flexible as Ten himself, but still, pretty nimble. The new angle gives the artist better access to his lower back, and he takes a smaller brush to start splattering droplets of prussian blue over it without hesitation. 

People always ask them, when they see the younger’s work, how it was that he came up with the idea of using his boyfriend as a canvas. The both of them like to claim that it was various different reasons: divine inspiration, a funny accident, Yuta being an excellent muse and art personified (that’s not an explanation that Ten ever uses, but Yuta will be damned if he’s not allowed to get his five minutes of glory in exchange for being covered in latex paint once a week). The reality was simpler, if less romantic; it was how they had met. Ten wanted a model, Yuta was a struggling college student who could do with some extra cash on the side ﹣and the only one brave enough to respond to a random shady advert on campus. 

A couple of months after routinely stripping down to their underwear in Ten’s apartment, they’d decided they should maybe try going out for dinner and having an actual conversation sometime. As it turned out, they liked each other even more once they actually spoke to one another. 

It didn’t take long for the two of them to move in together. Yuta spent most of his time at the flat anyway, and his modelling job just passed on to being the normal way to spend his Saturday mornings. And sure, maybe he is a bit worse off for money now, but the love and affection he gets in exchange are better than any payment. It’s something he finds himself trying to remember whenever the two of them get into an argument. 

The move had also meant that Ten’s previous roommate had left, which had more than a few perks. They can be as messy, as loud and as chaotic as they want without a single complaint from anyone except maybe the downstairs neighbours who Ten has dirt on anyway, so they are never going to say anything. Yuta had decided long ago that it was best not to ask. The apartment is always an absolute mess, but it’s their mess and Ten can truly let his true artistic vision run wild or whatever. Even if it means that they don’t have any living room furniture anymore. 

Yuta stares now at the spot where the armchair used to be. If he really tries he can still see a skid mark on the floor from that one time they’d decided to use it for… other purposes and it had got pushed back to the wall. In its place there is now only plastic wrap, extending to the far corners of the room. It looks nice under the morning light. It kind of glitters. They probably should have put some on the walls too, there’s paint all over them. Not that the walls are salvageable at this point.

“I heard that someone new moved into that block across the street.” Yuta says, just to make conversation. If he doesn’t he’ll probably end up falling asleep.

Ten just hums. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep. I wonder what they’ll think when they look out their window and see you painting me naked.” 

That makes the artists laugh. Yuta can feel the way it makes the brush shake against his hip bone. “It’ll be a surprise, I’m sure. But they’ll get used to it. Everyone always does.”

He’s not wrong. Perhaps an apartment with a window the size of theirs wasn’t the best idea for a couple that spent so much of their time wearing so little. A sliding glass door took up the larger part of the wall leading onto the balcony, and if either of them was shy in the face of possible voyeurs they would have a serious problem. Luckily they’re really not; and it makes for great natural light for photos.

“Right.” Ten sets his brushes down beside him and gives the other a soft tap on the hip. “I think I’m done. You can move now.”

Yuta complies instantly, sitting up and stretching out all his limbs. He didn’t even notice when his legs fell asleep, but they hurt like hell now that he’s aware of it. He reaches his arms up high, feels the strange stickiness of the paint shift over his spine. 

Once he can feel his extremities again he turns around. He can’t help but smile at the way the younger’s brow furrows as he surveys his work, a look of concentration on his face that is a tell-tale sign his forgotten Yuta is even there. He gets like that sometimes, absorbed in whatever it is that he’s creating. People are always telling him it must be difficult to live with someone like that, a “true artist”, but Yuta thinks it’s cute. Maybe it’s because he gets like that too sometimes, with his own hobbies. 

“Hey you.” He says softly. Ten snaps up his gaze to his face, seeming almost surprised that his artwork talks. “You with me?”

“Yeah.” He mumbles, then repeats himself slightly louder. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just… I’m not sure if I’m happy with it.”

“You’re never completely happy with anything you make baby, it’s called being a perfectionist.” Yuta grins, earning himself a dirty look. “We can keep going though, if you want to work on it some more.”

Ten visibly considers this for a second, his brow creasing again, but ultimately shakes his head. “No, I think this is as good as it’s going to get. We should shoot it before I change my mind.”

Yuta nods and stands up wordlessly. Ten follows shortly after. He’s already holding his camera that he’d left on the floor not far from them. Honestly it’s a miracle that that thing hasn’t been broken yet. Standing like this Yuta is significantly taller than his boyfriend, and he revels in the fact that, even though the younger is very much in change when they do things like this, he could still easily lift him off the ground.

Ten starts to give directions for where he wants him to stand, how he wants his head to tilt and exactly how his arms should be positioned. Yuta listens, sort of. Mostly he just watches the artist’s lips move, but they’ve done this enough times for him to know what to do, and Ten will inevitably change his mind about what it should look like anyway. And he does have very pretty lips. It gives him an idea. 

“Got it.” Yuta says once the instructions finish, even though he definitely hasn’t got it at all. “Can I get a kiss though? For luck?”

His boyfriend stares at him, and for a moment it seems like he’s going to roll his eyes and tell him to get on with it. But then Ten grins, in that adorable way that he does that makes him look like he has whiskers, and in an instant their lips are pressed together. 

Ten puts his free hand on the other’s chest as he leans upward, smearing the remains of colour down his sternum. Yuta doesn’t touch him - he knows far too well by now that Ten doesn’t want him to move too much, lest he disrupt the design on his skin - but he moves closer instead, closing the space between them and bending down slightly to get better access to his mouth. Hopefully if their new neighbour decides to look into their home it won’t be now, when it looks less like an art project and more like something else entirely. 

When they pull apart for air Ten’s cheeks are flushed and his lips are glossy and so inviting that Yuta tries to go for a second round. The hand of his chest pushes him back though, the sternness of the artist’s gaze being a clear indication that he wants to get back to work. Save the rest for later then. 

They spend about half an hour taking photo after photo until they’re both satisfied and Yuta’s arms start to get sore again. His skin is starting to feel itchy too, which is usually a sign that he needs to go and wash it clean. When he vocalizes that thought however Ten stops him, saying there’s another image he wants to record.

“Baby.” Yuta draws the word out petulantly, one step away from starting full on whining. “We’ve got like a thousand pics already, isn’t that enough? Surely there’s got to be something good in there.”

“There is, don’t worry.” Ten assures him, eyes cast on a particularly nice photo on his display screen. From that angle the splotches of colour look almost like ocean waves. “But I want to get a pic of something else. Can you just turn around for me?”

The elder frowns at that, confused. The artwork is on his back, why would he want to see his front? “Why though?”

“Just turn around. Please?”

He huffs again, but as always does what the other tells him to anyway. He barely makes it all the way round before the shutter of the camera goes off rapidly. The lens is pointed at a point below his face. Ten has moved closer, but not too close, as he still works mostly with zoom than anything else. He points the lens up, then down again, and presses the button about ten more times before looking at the display and humming happily, apparently satisfied with what he’s got. 

Yuta looks down to the spot that the camera was fixed on. At first he can’t see anything of interest, but then his eyes focus on a streak of blue just below his clavicle, and the greens and yellow that lead down in a line towards parts of him that he can’t see without a mirror. Ah, so that’s what it is.

“Are you taking pictures of your hand prints?” He asks amusedly and walks over to the other to see what does indeed seem to be a photograph of his paint splattered chest. 

“I mean, almost all my work is hand prints.” Ten quips back. “But yes, I thought it looked pretty. I’ve got a title for it and everything; I’ll call it ‘The Kiss’”. 

Unbelievable. Yuta laughs; shakes his head. “Are you telling me we spent two hours sitting on the floor painting my back only for you to decide that the feats of our make-out session are some sort of sappy masterpiece?”

“It’s not sappy, it’s romantic. I’m an idealist darling.” He reaches up to press a quick peck to the elders lips before petting his cheek and consequently getting even more paint on him. “Now go have a shower before your skin starts to crack, I can’t have my best model getting a rash.”

“I think you’ll find I’m your only model.” Yuta says pointedly, although he’s more than relieved to finally be able to wash it all off. “Join me?”

Ten makes a non-committal noise, his focus already having shifted back to something else around him. “In a bit. I’m going to tidy up in here first.”

Yuta knows him well enough to know that that means he’ll probably forget, but that’s okay. They can always shower together later when Ten eventually feels the need to; or when Yuta forces him to do so. In the meantime he’ll go clean up by himself, and then maybe after that he’ll make some breakfast for the two of them. He’s not the best cook in the world, but it’ll still be nice to have something warm to eat. Maybe he can even manage to convince Ten to bring some of the remaining chairs out from the kitchen so that they can sit in the sunlight. They can have a romantic brunch on the balcony. They’d have to move the plastic wrap first though.

He gets distracted from those thoughts as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging in the halls. From the front he looks like a mess, all frizzy hair and sleepy eyes and stains on his jaw. If he turns enough he can just about see the artwork on him, not that he can tell what it is. He never can, and he's not entirely convinced Ten knows either.

It's fascinating though; a mix of blues and violets, streaks of olive green and a yellow so pale it's almost cream; curls and swirls and diamonds that look like stars. It's messy, and strange, and he doesn't understand it, but he loves it. The two of them made it together, and that alone is enough to make it beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever wrote (would do anything to be Ten in this scenario), so I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ^^
> 
> If you want you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/rosebudqin) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/cherrylilies) !


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